“No? Who, then? Who, then? These prospectors, who have no legal rights? What a chance!”
“You forget, Mr. Quintell, that Dick Lennox also knew, and he evaded capture.”
The other stopped in his furious pacing and wheeled, fastening his penetrating black eyes on Harrison. He started to speak, then changed his mind. His lips parted in a cold, triumphant smile.
“If Lennox is still in the country I’ll know it in half an hour,” he said at last. “Wherever he is, I’ll know. I should have thought of this before—fool, that I am!” He strode over to his desk, picked up the unsigned note he had written, and handed it to the secretary. “Here, wire this to Sheriff Warburton, at the county seat! See that it can’t be traced back to us. Get Rankin up here as soon as you can. This cocky new editor will never print the verification of that story, Harrison. You can gamble on that! And listen: Don’t forget that little job you have at the Lucky Boy to-night. I’m driving out to Huntington’s around eight and I’ll be coming away from there not later than nine thirty. If you’ll wait for me I’ll pick you up on my way in. We’re putting over these two propositions, Harrison—possession of the new strike claims and sale of the Lucky Boy group—if we have to go to hell to do it.”
“I quite agree with you, sir,” said the other as he left the room.
True to his boast, half an hour afterward—following a brief talk with the town constable over the telephone—Quintell got proof that Lennox was in hiding in the district. The official reported in person to say that, as the broker had suggested, he had gone to the post office and, representing that Lennox was being investigated in connection with a felony charge and that he wished to ascertain the fellow’s whereabouts, had learned from the postmaster that the mining engineer’s mail had been turned over to Lex Sangerly that very afternoon, on presentation by the latter of a written request signed by Lennox.
Since Sangerly had told him that he was staying at the Huntington ranch, Quintell decided that it was the logical place to look for the man who had betrayed the confidence of the gang.
CHAPTER XVII—ONE SILENT NIGHT
On the evening that Sheriff Warburton left Tinnemaha Pete slumbering beside the camp fire at Blue Mud Spring and rode off for the Huntington ranch, Lemuel prepared supper early for himself and Lennox in order that he might have as much time as possible to devote to the laborious task of writing Dot a letter.
In a large pantry off the kitchen, which prior to Lennox’s coming had served as a storeroom, the mining engineer lay on a cot, helpless; his broken leg was mending as rapidly as could be expected, according to the doctor who had made his clandestine visits under cover of darkness.